


The Other Place

by screenwriter2014



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 08:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4557381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screenwriter2014/pseuds/screenwriter2014
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura Hobson receives an offer she can't refuse...and it isn't from Robbie Lewis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is set about a year after Falling Darkness (the one where Laura nearly gets buried alive) and presumes no prior relationship. Even though I've written another fic which unpicks The Ramblin' Boy, I still feel that the episode just conveniently slid Hobson and Lewis together and that that was lazy and not especially realistic. This is entirely AU for Series 7 and 8, but the characters are entirely in canon. Hope you like it - buckle up, this won't all be hearts and roses!

The envelope was satisfyingly thick, its contents clearly more than a single page. She propped it against the radio while she made a pot of coffee. It was an unnecessary preliminary, nothing more than a delaying tactic, but the routine settled her. It was a Saturday in July, and Laura Hobson was off duty until Monday morning. A full weekend was rare these days, what with staffing cuts and services being stretched more than ever, and she planned to make the most of her time away from the office.

She poured the water into the cafetiere, spreading it evenly across the fine powder, and carefully fixed the lid with its heavy plunger. She already knew what the envelope meant. The college crest had been emblazoned across the right hand corner by the franking machine, and however expensive the paper, no rejection letter was ever this thick. Cambridge. She moved the pot to the kitchen table, splashed some milk in a mug, and picked up the letter, tapping it against her lips as she sat down.

An hour later she was still sat there, reading and re-reading the fine print of the contract. It was good. Better than the conversations during the interview process had suggested. They wouldn't require her to lecture, it would almost exclusively be a research fellowship, with the possibility of some post-doctoral supervision, entirely at her discretion. The departmental letter, folded neatly behind the college contract, was even more straightforward. Lab facilities and a small group of PhD students already working on the trial that would potentially confirm her hypotheses, and, most important of all, there was the opportunity to establish some new surgical protocols based on her findings. The group had even secured a seed funding grant and were confident they could take on two new PhDs by October.

She sighed loudly and sat back heavily in the chair. It was everything she wanted. What had started as a joke with Ellen about 'moving to the dark side', and a punt on a research application, had ended with a proposal beyond her expectations. She would take it, there was no question of that. It was absolutely the right thing to do. Even though the application had been purely speculative, the impulse to complete it had been a long time coming. She was fifty two, single, at the top of her game professionally, but floundering in her personal life. She was a woman who thrived off an intellectual challenge, the complexity of a problem…but recently even she had to admit that her attachment to a certain DI had become less of an interesting distraction and more of a sad and ultimately futile obsession of hers. For several years she had waited, respectful of his grief, his need for space, her hopes lifted by the occasional smile, the casual touch of a had been fooling herself, that much was now crystal clear. She smiled wryly, not for the first time regretting how much time she had wasted on wanting something that wasn't real.

Occasionally, she'd shared her thoughts with Ellen, and then listened with resignation as her friend gently but insistently told her what she already knew. Robbie Lewis was in love with ghosts. With Val, maybe even with the memory of his time with Morse… certainly with a life that he might have had. He cared about her, enjoyed her company, would always be happy to shout her a chip supper and a beer, but it was never going to be the romance of the century. For it to be real, he would have to act upon whatever feelings he had for her. And whether out of guilt, grief or that unfortunate genetic flaw that seemed to make all men backward in coming forward, he never would.

She drained her cup and placing it carefully down, stretched to grab a pen from the shelf behind her. A few strokes later, it was signed and dated. Done. As she looked out into her garden, she was struck by how much she would miss it. She wouldn't see the leeks she'd just planted come up. For a moment she wondered whether she could do this, just pick up her life and drop it down somewhere else? It seemed so simple on paper. But there would be letting agents to contact, moving firms to arrange, notice to give, and there would be people to tell. She took a deep breath, folded the single page of the signed contract into the thoughtfully enclosed pre-paid envelope and sealed it. She would speak to Human Resources on Monday.

By Sunday evening Laura was sitting in the centre of her living room, surrounded by piles of paperwork. She had just over two months before the move to Cambridge, but mentally she was already packing her bags. Tackling the piles of paperwork in her kitchen drawers was the first step. As much as she was meticulous in her work, Laura never really gave the same consideration to home finances, and there were nearly ten years' worth of utility bills and bank statements to sort through. As she piled up water bills and pay slips, it struck her that she would have to tell Robbie. It was so hard these days to define the lines of their relationship but she felt he should hear it from her. With Hathaway she would just mention it next time she saw him, he'd probably make a comment about it not being the same without her, they'd make a joke about Rawbone and he'd wish her the best. James would understand what the opportunity represented, how much it would mean to have her work finally translated into tangible surgical procedure. But with Robbie it would be different.

She reached for the hole punch and began to file things away. Yes, talking to Robbie would be entirely different. And the prospect of the conversation left her a bit nauseous. He might not have romantic feelings for her, but he certainly relied upon her friendship, and he didn't cope well with change. It would be awkward and she frankly didn't have the patience anymore for his sulking. She took a sip from her wine glass and closing her eyes, carefully tried to calm down. Even now, even when it was so clear that there was no possibility of a future with him, the realisation still hurt, still had the capacity to rile her. And of course he would behave like a child about this, he would kick against the change, he would make her feel guilty. But of one thing she was absolutely sure, he wouldn't ask her to stay. He never did.


	2. Two

For some reason, the first week of August always seemed to be quiet for Robbie Lewis. There was obviously something about the lack of undergraduates and the long summer evenings that made people less disposed to murder each other. He smiled to himself at his own ridiculousness…there wasn't exactly a 'season' for murder, but still, thirty years experience told him that today would be a slow one. Which was why he was currently slouching in one of the station cafeteria's plastic chairs, savouring one of Oxford's finest bacon butties and a well-stewed polystyrene cup of tea. Even the cafeteria was quiet this morning, only a few constables, a couple of the desk sergeants and a group of technicians from the mortuary. He smiled as his thoughts drifted to his favourite employee in that department. Well, in any department. Would she be in today? He hadn't seen her for a couple of weeks, and that had only been a quick chat in the corridor. He should probably make a point of sending her a text, sort out a drink after work next week. Hathaway would be on leave then, so he'd have her all to himself. Wiping the excess sauce from his lip, he set the bacon roll back down on the cardboard plate. There was no rush this morning, he could take his time for once.

In the corner, Hobson's technicians were clearing their table. He smirked, she always was a slave-driver. The way everyone was moving, he suspected that she would be in this morning, and that - he eyed the clock - the team had approximately four minutes to be in the mortuary before she went on the warpath. He took another bite, and leaned forwards as they bustled past, the threads of their conversation drifting around him,

"Well, it won't be the same without her…"

"It's an amazing opportunity though, I would leave if it was me"

"…end of August, right?"

"Apparently the Chief Pathologist hit the roof last week!"

"Yeah, Hobson will be a hard act to follow"

As the voices moved through the doors and faded down the corridor, Lewis took a deep slug of his tea. He must have misheard. It was impossible. He replayed the words again, checking for details, making sure he hadn't imagined it. Laura was leaving. Laura had told everyone she was leaving. Everyone except him.

A few seconds later the half-eaten roll lay abandoned in the canteen, and Robbie was striding down the rabbit warren of corridors to the mortuary. The lights in the dissection rooms were all off, so he marched into the staff room. The group from the canteen all turned to stare at him, somewhat bemused as he turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him. He turned left and thumped his arm into the double doors, and took a few strides towards her office. The door was ajar, and suddenly he could see her, already at her desk, already curved over a pile of paper, the soft glow of her desk lamp warming her face. Her blonde hair almost sparkled in the artificial light, and unaware of her observer, she pushed a stray curl back behind her ear. For a moment he hesitated, overwhelmed as he often was, by the strength of his feelings for this woman. It was almost a physical sensation, the longing he felt to protect her, to keep her close. She must have registered the sudden commotion and the subsequent silence because she suddenly looked up and smiled warmly,

"You looking for me?"

How could she smile at him like that? The anger flashed again, propelling him away from the confrontation, away from the conversation that suddenly he didn't want to have,

"No…sorry. No"

He turned on his heel and strode back through the doors, leaving a very confused woman in his wake.

* * *

As the morning slid into the afternoon, Lewis's mood darkened. He stared blankly at the screen in front of him, punching out emails and reports with his two index fingers. He jabbed at the keyboard, cursing when he made a mistake, scowling at the words in front of him. Why hadn't she told him herself? Why would she do that, leave him to find out from some kids in the canteen? It wasn't like Laura to sneak around, to keep him in the dark. If anything she was usually too honest and frank with him. It was one of the many reasons he loved her. She was the only one who had really sorted him out after Val's death, was the only one who had metaphorically kicked him in the balls and told him to step away from the bottle. She'd pretty much saved his life. Hathaway, sick of the huffing and puffing emanating from the opposite side of the office announced that he was off for a cigarette. Lewis merely nodded and scowled back at the screen. It made no bloody sense, they were supposed to be friends.

* * *

By four o'clock, Hathaway decided it was make or break. Leaning back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, he risked a question,

"So are you going to tell me what has happened, sir? I haven't seen you this cross since Newcastle lost 4-3 to Liverpool"

Lewis shook his head and slammed the case of his laptop shut. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have.

"Nothing lad, I'm fine. Fancy a pint?"

He hadn't planned to talk to Hathaway, really he hadn't. But as they sipped their second pints, the lad had asked again if something was up, and Lewis couldn't resist asking,

"Did you know that Laura Hobson was leaving?"

From the look on James's face, it was obvious that he hadn't.

"Oh well, at least I wasn't the very last person to find out…"

Lewis's shoulders slumped forward and he took another sip.

"Where's she going?"

"No idea…I only heard this morning that she's handed in her notice"

There was a silence as Hathaway joined the dots,

"So she hasn't spoken to you about it?"

Hathaway seemed genuinely surprised, and Robbie couldn't decide whether it made him feel better that he obviously hadn't overreacted to her not telling him…or whether he should feel even worse that she hadn't,

"Nope. Heard it in the canteen this morning."

James didn't need to ask whether this was the cause of his superior's foul mood. He'd seen the way Lewis and Hobson looked at each other, and in spite of his own lack of experience with the fairer sex, he knew a complicated situation when he saw it.

"Maybe she wanted to talk to you privately and hasn't had the chance yet?"

It was grasping at straws but he wanted to say something to make him feel better.

"Aye, maybe"

They finished their pints in companionable silence, and no more was said on the subject. As they left the pub they parted company at the bridge, with Hathaway heading back into town, and Lewis setting off along the riverside.

* * *

The moon was almost full, and in the half light of dusk, the river seemed to glow. The water was still, hardly a breath of wind, and it was beautiful. Oxford was beautiful at night. Once the crowds were gone, the traffic fell quiet and the town was asleep, it was a magical place to walk. Why would she want to leave this? As Lewis walked his mind played over the events of the day. She'd seemed so pleased to see him this morning, just normal. If he was honest, he'd been feeling a bit guilty about not having spent much time with her recently. He'd been planning to make a point of getting back in touch, of spending some time with her. They'd never really talked about the events of that week, all those months ago, when he'd questioned her. They'd made up, of course they had…she'd hugged him after the funeral and told him not to worry about it, and he'd taken her at her word. But obviously something had changed. He'd just assumed she was busy, they both were these days. There had been significant funding cuts in all departments, everyone was working overtime and sacrificing holiday while the changes to infrastructure were implemented. Maybe she'd finally got sick of it all.

Gradually he walked back to the main road and curved back into town. His right hand was in his pocket, toying with his phone and he wondered again whether he should just call her and ask. His frustration was beginning to clear now and the overwhelming feeling was sadness. Although he had never really thought that Laura would return his feelings, now that he had the incontrovertible proof that they weren't as close as he told himself, he felt hopeless. It hurt, knowing that she had made this decision without him, without even explaining why. She clearly thought that her life needed a change, and that change didn't require him. He kicked a can lying on the pavement, toe-poking it into a hedge. No, he wouldn't call. She wouldn't welcome the intrusion, not now she had made her decision.


	3. Three

The last week of August ushered in a heatwave to Oxford, and revealed a sinister secret the city had been keeping for several weeks. It had been, as it often was, a dog walker who had the unpleasant privilege of finding the body, carefully hidden in the undergrowth by the edge of Southfield golf course. A young man, it would appear, but little remained to attempt anything more substantial without forensics. Which was why Laura Hobson, on her last week of work with the Oxford police, found herself sweating in a plastic suit, trying very hard not to be sick as she collected maggot larvae.

It was a tricky scene to secure, and the heat, while it had helped with finding the body, was working against her. The only reliable time of death would depend on the entomological data, so she persevered. The SOCOs were establishing the scene, and once the photographer arrived, she could bag the body and get back to the mortuary. Taking samples was a methodical, delicate task and as she worked through the procedure, filling the plastic tubes and labelling them, her mind wandered. One week to go. The house was basically sorted, the van was all booked for Saturday. She would need to spend a few hours to pack up the books in her study, but more or less, she was ready. The team had threatened a leaving do on Friday night, but she'd nipped that idea in the bud. As much as she loved a party, it seemed a bit premature, and the idea of finishing up the packing with a hangover was not appealing. If she was entirely honest, slipping off quietly without any fuss suited her just fine.

Another car was parking, and she glanced over to confirm her suspicions. Fabulous. She'd had a drink with James last week, and as she expected, he'd been positive about her move. But Robbie had been less forthcoming. A few times she'd tried to initiate a conversation, but he'd always found an excuse to avoid her. Last week he'd actually cut her off mid-sentence to answer the phone. Technically, she hadn't actually told him, but from what Hathaway had said, he was fully aware that in a week, she would be leaving. It was ridiculous. As she had anticipated, he was sulking because she'd had the audacity to take a decision. And, as much as she loved him - oh yes, what was the point in denying that now - this posturing was frankly pathetic.

"What do we have, Laura?"

His tone was measured, but lacking its usual warmth.

"Quite frankly, a bloody mess"

She saw him grimace and step back.

"Yeah, when isn't it… Is there anything useful to go on yet?"

She attempted a smile, and carefully dropped the last sample into its tube,

"Not much more than what you can see at this stage. Male. Young. No personal items, a couple of shotgun cartridges over there by the trees, but I can't tell you whether they have anything to do with it yet"

She heard him sigh and walk away, and she decided not to rise to the bait. Lewis was always a grumpy sod at a crime scene.

* * *

Half an hour later she was back at her car, cases loaded up and was spraying disinfectant over her gloves. She was tired and hot, and wanted nothing more than to get back to the station and have a shower. In the corner of her eye, she saw Robbie striding towards her, and she felt her heart sink a little. Once upon a time, she lived for these moments, a shared joke, a cheeky smile. Today she just wanted to go home.

"You done here?"

He was trying to be casual. She eased open her suit, carefully peeling it away from her, trying not to gag at the smell.

"Yep, thank god."

He seemed to hesitate, no doubt wondering if he should help with the suit, but then thinking better of it.

"OK, back to the station then?"

She nodded, concentrating on removing the cuffs, stepping out of the stained boots,

"Yes. I doubt we'll have him ready for a post mortem this evening, so it'll probably be lunchtime before I have anything for you."

He looked her, holding her gaze, and she was surprised to see a flash of anger,

"So do you ever plan on telling me?"

Breaking away from his stare, she folded the filthy suit over a few times and kicked it aside,

"Tell you what, Robbie?"

She wasn't being coy, she was tired and distracted, but as she looked up at him, his expression was one of disgust. The penny dropped, and she looked back at her feet,

"Oh, that…"

She turned back to the car, loading in her samples, distracting herself momentarily with the task. The last case was next to him, and for a moment she thought he might hand it to her, but he didn't move, flinching as she reached past him.

"I tried to tell you weeks ago, it's not that big a deal"

Immediately she regretted her choice of words,

"I wasn't sure what to tell you"

Later, he would ponder those words, but now, in the heat of the moment he couldn't see beyond his bruised pride,

"You told everyone else before you even thought about me"

The hurt in his voice surprised her, but she turned away, picking up a bottle of water from the boot, taking a sip,

"I told my team, a few people in HR, I just had to set the wheels in motion at work with the right people."

She felt his hand on her shoulder, and she was unsure whether it was supposed to comfort or intimidate. His tone left little doubt,

"So what category would you put me in, seeing as you've so obviously got it all so perfectly organized?"

She turned and stared at him, surprised by the venom behind his words, the way their friendship seemed to have shifted irrevocably. Why didn't he understand how hard it had been? He was just angry that she hadn't told him first. Her voice cracked slightly as she looked away, stepped back,

"Please don't do this…"

She turned, still overwhelmed by the man's stupidity, his assumption that she hadn't thought about him, that he was somehow irrelevant to this choice, and slammed the boot shut. Taking a shaky breath, she calmly opened the driver's door and sat down, placing her key in the ignition. The window was already wound down, and as the hurt slid effortlessly back into familiar frustration and anger she glared at him again,

"OK, fine. Consider this your formal notification. I'm taking a six month research sabbatical at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, starting in two weeks. I apologise if this arrangement will cause you some inconvenience, but I'm sure my temporary replacement will be more than sufficient to meet your forensic needs."

She didn't wait for an answer, didn't see the look of shock on his face as she drove out of the car park. Didn't see the shift in his expression as he focused on the one important word she'd said. Temporary.


End file.
